


The Mystery of the Missing Precinct

by Aogera (EchoBerry), EchoBerry



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Kim deserves all the good things, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Precinct 41 - Freeform, valentines day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28965261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoBerry/pseuds/Aogera, https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoBerry/pseuds/EchoBerry
Summary: So…. Since Kim is our collective Sweet Boy, best friend, and Good Person and must be Protected at All Costs, it only seemed right that he gets all the love and care and good things.Yes. It’s the valentine’s day crack fic that nobody asked for. Leave your self respect at the door.
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My emotional support fanfic.
> 
> Shoutout to theonlytwin for creating the Kim voices used in this fic and the source fic is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22598530/chapters/54006139
> 
> More info at the end of the chapter.

It is a cold, grey day in February and you are really starting to feel like a part of the 41st precinct half a year after transferring departments. You park the Kineema and run up the stairs to your desk - running was something of a new habit after working more than a few cases with Detective Harrier DuBois who jogs everywhere. He said why walk when running is faster and you could not really argue with that. Especially not while you were trying to catch your breath.

Besides, you’re a bit late this morning. There are these new… you won’t call them voices.

[Whisper Light] We prefer ‘skills’

Well, whatever they are, they keep you up at night talking. Bickering, mostly.

[Analyst] I was merely suggesting that perhaps we’ve always been here. You just had some trauma that split some of your functionalities and gave them unique personalities to cope.

[Stargazer] Cute personalities.

You rub your forehead. You suspect it was something to do with _ that _ week. Probably to do with pale exposure. A lot had changed for you since you met Harry. On almost a whim you’d agreed to transfer precincts.

[Sacre Coeur] I think we all know who was responsible for that...

[Joie de Vie] Oh, yes, that was me, you naughty boy.

[Quick Draw] Ahem. 

Joie de Vie goes silent as quickly as the crack of a whip. You run a hand over your face, placing back on the mask of professionalism. This is a habit you’ve maintained for many years now before coming face to face with anyone in the office. There were stronger reasons for it when you were in the 57th, your race, your sexuality, even your glasses. There could be no hint of weakness because you had to ‘make up’ for so much more.

But there had absolutely been a slight weakness in your usual proceedings when the detective had asked you to transfer to the 41st those months ago. in fact, you’d basically agreed to it immediately. No careful consideration, no weighing up pros and cons lists in your notebook, just one question from Harry’s lips and you were filing the transfer paperwork before you could say ‘quick draw.’ 

[Quick Draw] You called?

The frankly exhausting, captivating week had you reeling, and stirring it up was Harry. Chaotic, hilarious and carefree and just so much fun to be around. Plus, his baby bi-energy was so endearing.

[Officer] Interdepartmental romances are frowned upon.

[Sacre Coeur] And how many husbands and wives met at the RCM? 

[Whisper Light] Everyone knows it's just a line of text. No one actually follows it.

[Officer] Everyone knows that being partnered in this line of work leads to intense connections. But the thinking is that men partnered together poses ‘less risk of fornication.’

[Analyst] Which is why Judit is the only woman on the precinct. And she toes the line with extra care. Like you do. 

You shake away the thoughts, no wonder you can’t sleep. But, with the new ‘skills’ also came a new apartment, new colleagues, new friends. Nothing more. Not yet, anyway. 

Your desk is near the back of the office. Usually you exchange pleasantries with the various officers on the way to your desk but Judit’s desk is empty. You wonder if she is running late too. Unlikely for a green officer.

[Analyst] her handbag is under her desk. She’s already here. Curious. 

As you pass each desk, it seems that everyone is in but distinctly not at their desks or even circling the coffee pot. You idly wonder if perhaps they had all hurried to an emergency, but the radio was quiet on the drive in.

[Stargazer] The mystery of the missing precinct

The mystery does not endure. They are all huddled in front of your desk. Talking animatedly. Crowding around something.

[Discourse] Please please please not a surprise party. I’ve barely woken up.

[Memento Mori] Death is coming for us all. But uh… it’s not your birthday or anything.

[Quick Draw} A prank? Be careful.

Kim: Khm. “Is there a problem?”

Judit: “Lieutenant!” 

[Discourse] She jumped. That was positively a squeal, although it was very quiet by everyone else’s standards. They’re up to something and Judit does not think that everyone should be there but can’t quite draw herself away from the action.

The others stand back as well revealing an enormous bouquet of tiger lilies sat on your desk. 

  
  


[Analyst] What?

[Stargazer] A gift!

[Quick Draw] Don’t react! It could be a trap.

Kim; I did not put them there. 

Jean Viquemare: Of course you didn’t, they were delivered this morning.

Chester McLaine: Yeah, we could all see the courier arrive with this big bouquet of flowers. We all started placing bets on who was going to receive it.

[Analyst] That would explain why Torso is wearing Harry’s flip up sunglasses. He’s wanted those for ages.

[Whisper Light] Wait, Torson bet the flowers were for us?

[Stargazing] Wait, Harry  _ didn’t _ think the flowers were for us??

[Kim] There is no ‘us’! They are for me! I doubt the envelope says ‘Kim Kitsuragi and the 16 voices in his head.’

You wrack your brains trying to get the pieces to slot together. You don’t think that any of the cases you’d solved recently warranted flowers, you have no lovers to speak of, and definitely no family. It’s the second week of February… what could the occasion possibly be? 

[Whisper Light] Oh.. 

[Stargazer] I’m positively faint with delight!

With a sense of malingering dread.

Torson ‘the Torso’: You have a valentine! 

He slaps you on the back and the force knocks your glasses askew. 

[Analyst] … Ah yeah, it’s Valentine’s day. Sorry. I… forgot.

[Discourse] You forgot??

[Analyst] What? I was up all night making cases for our continuing existence! What were you doing??

[Discourse] ...

You are generally proud of your ability to separate work and personal life. You are adept at putting on the mask at a moment’s notice. However, you had not had enough time to prepare for this. For a fraction of a second, you blink for too long to get your thoughts under control before your face resumes the mask. The precinct, literally the entire precinct seems to be holding its breath. 

Kim: I see.

Jean: “Who’s it from?”

He said that way too fast.

Jules Pidot; There’s a note, there. 

He points to a small envelope on the bouquet. How is it that even Jules is here??

Nix Gottlieb: Yes, open it, Lieutenant.

Dr Gottlieb, you too??

It just went to show how out of the ordinary it was. 

Kim: “Doesn’t anyone here have any work to do?” 

You place your notebook on your desk and pick up a case file.

Harry: “Well, an urgent one came in this morning; 

You look up expectantly. There’s a little dimple on the sides of Harry’s nose where he was wearing the flip-up glasses. He looks a little flush but places a hand on the desk and leans in conspiratorially.

Kim: Oh? 

Harry: It’s a big one. who is our Lieutenant’s secret admirer?” 

Your face must have fallen because Harry blanches for a moment. Then, he steps back and laughs. Jean slaps him on the back and you can tell that it’s all macho cop bravado. He is purposefully not looking at anyone’s face, especially ignoring the space that contains you. At least him and Jean seem to be gradually on the mend.

Chester: Do you think it’s someone from the precinct?”

Judit: I think we should leave the Lieutenant alone.

Torson: “Surely not. Out of us? Why didn’t they deliver it themself?”

Harry: That’s not the point of Valentine’s day!

Chester: So they could watch the Lieutenant’s response!”

Kim: “If you all don’t mind.”

The door to the captain’s office bursts open. Everyone spins around to see the imposing form of Ptolemaios Pryce standing in the doorway, fluorescent lights glaring off his bald head. He scowls at the entire department all huddled around your desk and NOT at their own desks.

Captain Pryce: Just read the note! Put us out of our misery!

There is a little envelope about the size of a matchbox amongst the stems. It is sealed shut, otherwise you wonder if they would have opened it. Surely not? That would be a huge breach of employee confidentiality. 

Maybe it wasn’t from- you glance up and look at each person quickly, but really you’re trying to gauge Harry’s reaction. He’s joining in with the office banter, but he looks a little on edge. But, perhaps it wasn’t from him at all.

You pluck the letter from the bouquet and flip it open. 

Be my valentine?

Your secret admirer

[Whisper Light] I guess it was to be expected. Valentines are supposed to be anonymous. Although that doesn’t really make much sense if you’re trying to tell someone you love them.

[Ace] Wait wait wait. No one else looking at you knows it’s anonymous. And you’ve been looking at it for quite a long time now. You can have some fun with this.

[Officer] You are the professional spoil sport, Lieutenant. Messing around could damage your reputation.

[Discourse] Au contraire, look at the atmosphere. It’s been six months, no one has spat at you, called you a slur, defaced your desk, anonymously sent ‘transfer’ papers to your inbox. Maybe now is a good time to lighten up a nanogram.

You gasp and stare at the note. Everyone leans in. For added flair, you raise your hand to cover your mouth. 

Kim: I can’t believe it.

You slowly raise your eyes to look at them. The 41st is wide-eyed in anticipation.

Kim: “It’s anonymous

Torson and Chester laugh, Captain Pryce even more loudly. Jean rolls his eyes. Judit smiles behind her palm. Harry… Harry beams.

Kim: It is a generous gesture from an unknown person. Now,

[Quick Draw] *cracks knuckles* Showtime

You raise an eyebrow

Kim: Is everyone done here?

With alarming speed, your coworkers scurry to their respective desks in the precinct. 


	2. Chapter 2

The bouquet is a big distraction, honestly. It is the first bouquet you have ever received in your 41 years. You think; is that really plausible? To have never received flowers? Men are not classically expected to receive flowers, tiresome social implications of that aside, you also have never really desired them. Your past boyfriends hadn’t indulged, but neither had you, Plus, there weren’t really flowers growing up in an orphanage. And you had never never been one to receive valentines day presents.

That makes the bouquet all the more distracting. There is something quite doting about the details; The tiger lillies are orange, a clear nod to your bomber jacket, and that extra detail makes you feel noticed. They were really chosen for you and you bask in the sentiment. Your lungs feel like they are glowing. 

Not knowing who they are from makes the gift a little disconcerting but you have an idea who it’s from. 

[Stargazer] Maybe not an idea so much as a yearning.

[Analyst] I mean, I have a list of evidence that he like you

[Joie de Vie] 4 strides to reach his desk! He’d kiss you back, you know he would.

[Ace] Why do you have the weirdest taste in men???

\---

You think back to an incident a few weeks ago, a holiday case you called ‘bad santa’ which had involved a jackfruit, a missing Santa Claus outfit and an even more pressing missing ten million from a bank vault. It had been one of the cases you had taken with Harry and, due to a lot of seemingly disjointed steps that escalated into something unrecognisable from the original brief, you and Harry were in a shootout in a dockyard. 

You ducked behind a shipping crate as a bullet whizzed past.

“So wait, you’ve never celebrated valentine's day?” Said Harry.

You attempt an ‘eyebrow of authority’ but a nearby explosion distracts you both and your eyebrow cramps (how???) 

“Well, yes,” you say, “But I don’t overdo it.”

“No gifts? Ever?”

“Umm,” there is a disconcerting sound of scraping metal and shouting in the background, “No. Is now the best time for a can-opening, officer?”

“A box of chocolates? A poem of admiration?” Harry tried, looking at you too intently considering the shootout happening in the background, “ a bunch of flowers?”

In hindsight, you realise that your eyes must have softened when he’d said that. There is something about the ridiculousness of Valentine’s Day that you never cared to fall into, why wait until a specific day of the year to tell someone that you liked them? There are 364 other perfectly good days that one can take advantage of. 

“No,” you’d said to Harry. “Duck.”

Harry ducked as a piece of wood flew where his head had been and you were back in the fray, conversation forgotten. At least, you had thought so. 

In truth, there weren’t a lot of valentine’s’ day presents at orphanages. As a child, you already stood out for being so skinny and needing glasses, unfair as children were, unchecked in an orphanage they could be brutal. Once you realised your burgeoning fascination for other boys, you decided to keep that to yourself as well. 

You’d had boyfriends, of course, but perhaps you just hadn’t gone for the sentimental types. 

Shaking yourself from the memory, you glance at Harry. He’s at the coffee machine talking to Jean. 

[Whisper Light] Harry wouldn’t be able to hold a pen steady with the amount of adrenaline running through his body.

[Sacre Coeur] He’s flustered because he’s waiting for a response to an extremely thoughtful gift that he had delivered to a special someone.

What an idiot. A sweet, caring, emotionally unstable, superstar, disaster idiot. With amazing hair.

[Gentleman] Obviously, we’ll find a way to thank him, sir. 

[Officer] Not at work.

[Gentleman] Mix business and pleasure? Wouldn’t dream of it.

\----

Throughout the day, interest in the bouquet doesn’t exactly disappear. There is a quiet hour after the initial huddle where most of the precinct at least avoids commenting, even if they struggle not to look. The problem with placing a beautifully packaged mystery in a law enforcement building is that it’s filled with detectives. 

By 11am, you are positive there is yet another betting pool. This time, on who can figure out who sent the bouquet. Chester’s walking around counting out real and Torson is handing out pieces of paper that look suspiciously like betting slips.

“Lieutenant,” says a gruff voice.

A hand is planted on your desk. You look to the owner. It is Jean Vicquemare. 

“Satellite-Officer.”

“Six months at the precinct,” he says in an expression that is trying curiously hard to appear ‘amiable’ and ‘chatty’ but is coming off more ‘threatening’ and ‘painful’, “eh?”

“Mmh.” You are not going to give him anything. This reeks of suspicion.

“Well, there’s something of a tradition at the RCM.”

You say nothing.

“You know, the six-month celebration lunchtime kebab with Jean.”

You still say nothing. You’ve seen Jean angry. You’ve seen Jean as a whirlwind of despair. You’ve seen him grumpy, despondent, hostile and, once, only tetchy. He is trying to smile. You can’t look directly at it. It’s like trying to look directly at an eclipse. You might go blind.

“This is a tradition?”

“Oh yeah. Big ole tradition. Ya know, a bit of,” he does a constipated arm gesture that was perhaps trying to be friendly, “getting ta know one another. Man to man. Brain to brain.”

[Analyst] I sense a lack of brains right now.

You still say nothing but steeple your fingers. The eyebrow quivers on standby.

“What I mean to say is, Harry! Tell Kim about the six month kebab!”

“You mean the one in the dumpster outside the precinct? Yeah, I’ve been monitoring it too. You know, you’d think it would go mouldy, but I think the garlic mayo is so garlicky that it’s repelling bacterial influence.”

You both look at him. Harry’s face is entirely serious. 

“I mean, I was gonna wait until everyone else had gone, but we can go and try it now if you also have your eye on it.”

“What IS WronG wITh You???” shouts Jean, “No, don’t answer that,” he says as Harry laughs. “I meant the getting a kebab with jean after 6 months at the precinct tradition,” he says, gritting his teeth.

“Jean,” he says, pointing to his head, “I literally would not know.”

At this point, other employees of the 41st are noticing that Jean is trying to get an upper hand in the betting ring and are moving over to sabotage him. 

“Hey, Jean, I never got a kebab!” says Chad Tillbrook, who elbows him.

“Yeah, I think it’s time to cash in on my Jean kebab,” says Mack, slapping him on the back. 

Jean’s eyes start to water. 

You remain unreadable.

“You bastards.”

“In all fairness, Satellite-Officer,” says Judit, “You never took me for one either. And I’ve been here for a year now.”

“Wow, Jean, way to show your favouritism.”

“Yeah, better make up for it now!”

“Kebab time! Kebab time!”

A flurry of officers surround Jean and escort him from the building shouting ‘kebabs! Kebabs!’

Chester hovers by the desk for a few moments, one eye turned to yours. 

You raise the eyebrow.

He runs from the precinct to join the others.

Finally, you can concentrate.

[stargazer] The flowers smell beautiful, like summer. 

[Sacre Coeur] Like a kiss.

  
  


Harry: Uh, Lieutenant.

Oh, he’s still here. He looks like he wants to say something. You both hope he mentions the flowers and that he absolutely does not talk about them during working hours.

Harry: Do you want to join the 6 month kebabs from Jean lunch?

Kim: I suppose I am technically owed one. 

Harry: He seemed pretty intent on buying you lunch, and you’re the only person who didn’t go with!

Kim: I think we are both clear on what his intentions were. And I don’t accept bribes. Even meaningless ones.

You look at him pointedly.

Harry: This isn’t a bribe! It’s a tradition! That’s starting today, admittedly. 

You mull it over. Your lunch is a classic Kim ‘last night’s leftovers’. To be honest, you were looking forward to there not being a queue for the precinct microwave now that everyone’s gone out. 

Harry: Besides, you actually need to be there for it to be a tradition.

You smile and look at him properly. He stayed behind to convince you to tag along with the precinct. It’s pretty breathtaking.

Kim: Ah, fuck it. Jean can buy us lunch.

Harry whoops and you leave to find the Kuklov kebab merchant. As you pass through the door, the backs of your hands brush and neither of you mention it, but Harry glances at you and you adjust your glasses in what you hope is a meaningful way.

\-----

  
  


After lunch, the phone rings.

“Lieutenant Kitsuragi speaking”

“Heeeeeeey Kiiiiim,”

You pause. It is Alice from the 57th. You’ve known her basically ever since she started there. She was commanding the radio as soon as she could work 

“Radio Officer DeMettrie. How may I assist?”

“Ah Kimball,” you wince at the old nickname.

Normally, that nickname is off limits. However, when it’s from Alice it is with a self-aware irony that stems from knowledge of how much you hated it, it’s an indicator that she is not being entirely-serious; 

“I hope this is not a personal call. During working hours.”

“Can’t old friends of the 57th just radio each other for a chat? We never chat anymore!”

You sigh internally. Outward, your face is stone. 

“Alice, I expected better of you.”

“Oh, come on, Kim, just tell me who it is. I’ve got really good odds.”

“How do you even know about the betting pool?”

“Really? Lieutenant Kitsuragi, the stone that was turned into a man, the eyebrow of authority, the man who outlasted juvie for 15 years even when the boss was deliberately not-promoting you, Kim ‘Protocol’ Kitsuragi, that guy has a valentine’s day present? It’s basically RCM lore now.”

“You’re joking.”

“Literally every single person here knows.”

You rub your eyes under your glasses. 

“Look, I am actually sort of just phoning to say I think it’s nice. I don’t really remember you spoiling yourself. Nice to find someone who will.”

“Khm. Well, Alice,” you say deliberately, sensing that she might be looking for a moment of weakness, you are well-versed in interrogation techniques after all, “I don’t know who they are from. And I may have to tell your superior that you are trying to fix betting pools.”

“Who, Dad? He’s bet more than me!”

“Of course he has.”

“Ok, just let me make one tiny tiny guess.”

“It’s pointless because the gift was sent anonymously.”

“Is it the guy you left the 57th for?”

“Khm. As I just said-”

“Oh wow, it is.”

“If you were listening-”

“Holy Dolores, wow, I mean, wow.”

“You would have heard me say that-”

“I mean, I kinda had a hunch when you came back from your couples retreat in Martinaise with him after, like, a week,”

“The gift was anonymously sent. Wait, couples’ retreat?”

“And you were basically moving in with some hobo suicidal detective who sank a coupris after a joyride during an apocalyptic bender. Didn’t he lose all of his memories?”

“He’s been sober for six months-”

“Kim.”

You both pause. You glance around quickly. Harry’s face is flushed and he is trying to look like he is working. His report is upside down.

“Kim. I’ve known you a long time. And all I have to say is: You have a type.”

You hang up the radio. 

{Genus Loci] A cool breeze slips through the gaps in the walls of the old silk mill turned precinct. It carries a woman’s laughter with it all the way from the 57th. Alice cackles to the sound of radio static.

\-----------

  
  
  


[Joie de Vie] Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim

[You] Go away

[Joie de Vie] but Kiiiiiiiiiiim it’s 6 o’cloooock

You scratch your forehead.

[You] You can wait, it’s not the end of the day. Not even close. Can’t one of you lot deal with this?

[Ace] Look, you need an excuse to talk to Harry before you go home.

[Joie de Vie] As-tra As-tra As-tra

[Officer] You will see him tomorrow. You can find a quieter, less-glaringly obvious way to get him alone then. Or the next day. Or even next week.

[Stargazer] I dunno guys, It feels really important to talk to him RIGHT NOW.

[Joie de Vie] As-tra As-tra As-tra

[Gentleman] If someone gets you a gift, it is courteous to offer a thank you. 

[You] I don’t know if any of you noticed, but I am one report page away from being done today. Maybe we can pause the council meeting for ten minutes? And cigarettes are for the end of the day. Not 6 o’clock.

[Sacre Couer] He’s looking at you.

You glance over and catch his eye. You both look away in unison.

[Sacre Coeur] He’s waiting to join you on your cigarette break so that he can get you alone.

[Genus Loci] The Sun is low in the sky this early in the year and the sunset is blood red and spectacular.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Huh?” says Harry.

_ Shit. _

“Umm, sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” you say, throwing your pen down in defeat. 

Harry looks at his own reports and says, “I know the feeling.”

There is a silence in ‘the mental chorus’ as though they are all holding their breath. You very carefully replace the cap on your pen. You shuffle some papers so that they are neatly stacked. Finally, you fold.

“Cigarette?”

There is an eruption of cheers in your brain. It’s… so loud.

“Sounds good.”

You both grab your jackets and head to the rooftop. There are no casual hand brushes this time, the precinct is emptying but people are still watching. You feel slightly more self-conscious than usual leaving with Harry but, when you think about yesterday, and the ten days before that, you have a smoke with Harry every evening. A bouquet of flowers, RCM-wide attention, and a betting pool does not affect that. 

You are a professional.

Except, now you’re outside and the sunset is a backdrop begging to be put to good use. You lean against the railing and pull out an astra, offering one to Harry. He bought a pack last week. You realise that you’ve started alternating who buys a pack each week. Huh.

While you consider that, he lights his own, the tip glows red as the setting sun as he inhales. He pockets the lighter and exhales over the railing, a practiced motion. His profile is strong, especially with all his majestic facial hair. This side of sobre, he looks dependable, confident. 

[Joie de Vie] Kinda sexy

[Kim] …

[Officer] I am not here.

[Kim] Yeah. Kinda.

He looks at you and lifts up his cigarette as a question. You nod and he leans towards you and you raise your astra to your lips. He touches the end of his cigarette to yours and you inhale, the smoke races down your lungs and sets them alight. You ponder that perhaps his breath is in your lungs. He lingers for a moment then pulls away and you don’t want to attribute the way your nerves are racing to just the nicotine.

[Stargazer] Wow.

[Joie de vie] He was looking at your lips.

Your heart is racing faster than usual so you take a few drags to settle into the end of the day. Then the question naturally pops up; what in Dolores do you say to him? How do you even begin? Maybe it would be better to just let the evening be perfect and- and try again tomorrow? 

[Joie de Vie] Noooo, ask him now!

[Analyst] He’s not going to say anything, he’s waiting for you to direct the conversation.

[Discourse] He’ll match your energy. You have the reigns now. 

[Gentleman] If I may offer a suggestion:

“Thank you,” you say.

He looks over at you, “oh, no problem.”

[Gentleman] He thinks you meant for lighting your cigarette. Make sure there are no misunderstandings.

“They’re beautiful.”

“Ah.”

[Chameleon] He’s blushing. Curling in on himself slightly. He’s feeling protective of his heart.

[Sacre Coeur] He can trust us.

“Can’t get anything past you, Kim. How did you know it was me?”

“Hmm, well, I am an excellent detective.”

“You are,” he says so earnestly that it makes you feel guilty for trying to use humour to avoid your feelings.

“It was part remembering the Bad Santa shootout conversation, part reading your body language. Maybe a part of uh,” you look to the view, “wishful thinking.”

“Wishful thinking?”

You smile closed-lipped around your astra and look up at him from under your eyelashes, then look away again to exhale. He looks hopeful.

[Ace] Da-amn. Careful with that smoulder, Lieutenant. Don’t want him to fall over the edge.

[Joie de Vie] the edge of what? Wink.

[Discourse] what does that even mean??? And did you just say ‘wink’?

“It felt good. I hoped it was you.” You tap some ash off the side of the building, “how long was it on your mind for?”

He shrugs, “I guess I thought about it during that case after you said that you’d never really received a proper valentine and I just thought that you’re so amazing that if anyone deserved one it was you.” He looks over at you, eyes wide, “was that too much?”

It is genuinely heart-warming to hear him say that. 

“Well, yes, but again. I liked it.”

“Khm, so. You haven’t uh-” he turns to face you properly and makes a gesture between your bodies, “you know. Well, you haven’t laughed it off as a joke, and you also haven’t ignored it. Which was obviously an option. Umm, am I,” he twitches his head to the side, “maybe? Getting- well, I’m interpreting this in a certain way and-”

“Maybe we should continue this discussion later this evening.”

[Joie de Vie] Meow!!!

[Quick draw] I am pretty sure you were thinking ‘this weekend’. Not ‘this evening’.

[Ace] Smooth like whiskey

“Oh. Ok! Yes. Yes! Where? Did you have in mind?”

“I actually had not thought that far ahead. I thought that maybe since you asked that you might have a plan?”

  
“That makes total sense. Yes. In hindsight, yes, I can see why you might have thought that I would have a plan. Well, I do not. I also think that this evening is a terrible evening to make a last minute booking, but,” he claps his hands together, “I’ll figure it out. Superstar cop style.”

“If it is easier, we can wait for the weekend.”

“Never!” He sounds like he’s plotting a grand heist, “do you want to go now or-”

“I have to drive home first. I have a bunch of flowers I need to drop in my apartment. RoPlus, I need to get ready for a- well, detective,” you put on a serious face, “i don’t mix work and pleasure, but between you and me, I have a date this evening.”

“Wow.”

You stub your cigarette out on your shoe. 

“Can I pick you up at eight?”

“Of course.”

[Ace] Turn around now, walk away. Flick the cigarette butt. 

[Sacre coeur] Daang, he’s definitely looking at your ass. Shake it.

[officer] why?//? He’s not, you’re just walking normally in a precinct-approved manner.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm yes the last chapter will be posted on Valentine’s Day (promises I can’t keep)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day <333

You pick up the bouquet with minimal commentary from the precinct and secure in the Kineema with a seatbelt and drive home with speedfreaks fm on LOUD. You still can’t totally believe what’s happened. Was that even you on the balcony? When was the last time you flirted with someone? 

[Trivia] Four years ago.

[Momento Mori] After the uh… well. Everything sort of turned to shit.

[Quick Draw] Hey! Hey! This isn’t a night about what was. This is a night about what wills! 

[Stargazer] it’s OK to remember. Besides, the Kim of 4 years ago is quite different to the Kim today. 

You catch a glimpse of the bouquet in the rearview mirror and huff at the romantic ridiculousness of it all, but can’t help a small smile. Honestly, today was the most of a ‘fuss’ that’s been made around you in precinct 41 and it was only sort-of awful. 

You just can’t help but think back to the 57th and cringe, partly at your stupidity, but from this side of 40 you can see that there were a lot more factors at play than a man who had a crush on a coworker. He had not taken it well, even though you didn’t ask explicitly, there was plausible deniability, but gossip flew around the precinct for weeks. And you did not get promoted out of juvie until the last captain of the 41st left. 

And then you built a fortress between work and personal life. 

...

[Momento Mori] Wait… are we, are we going to have sex with him?

You nearly crash the Kineema, but some ancient reflexes take over and you swerve back onto the road. 

[Gearhead] Dusting off those drifting reflexes, Lieutenant?

[Quick draw] I got you.

[Kim] I don’t know?? We’re adults. Why do I need to decide now? Besides, there’s nothing wrong with that. What if we do? What if we do have sex? What then?

[Momento Mori] Woooah didn’t mean to touch a nerve there. 

[Analyst] Your palms are clammy.

[Kim] Stop analysing me!

You pull into your parking space in the parking garage under your flat and rest your head against the steering wheel. 

[Gentleman] You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.

[Kim] I know.

[Gentleman] but if you want to do something then that’s OK too.

[Kim] I know.

[Analyst] Guys, guys, whisper meeting, over here.

You can hear them all shuffling to have a group huddle, but it’s in your head and you can hear everything. You rub your hands over your face.

[Analyst] I think he’s just overwhelmed because this guy just seems to like him, no caveats, no strings attached, no hidden meanings.

[Machinist] True, and he isn’t making Kim jump through hoops for every ounce of affection.

[Whisper Light] But Kim's also worried that Harry is too vulnerable - how can a man with six months of memories have any idea what he wants?

[Officer] And a colleague at that, there is high risk if it all goes wrong.

You huff. 

[Kim] I can hear everything you’re saying.

You use the background chatter as motivation to get up, extract the bouquet from the passenger seat, and walk up to your flat. That familiar wave of exhaustion hits you as you step through the front door. Plus, the voices won't stop ruminating on every single tiny little thing that could go wrong. Suddenly, the prospect of leaving the house again feels like a thoroughly daunting prospect. You place the flowers in a jug and put them on the kitchen counter, then have a glass of water for yourself, and go and collapse on your bed. 

The tension of the day seeps out of you as you run through what happened, how you responded, and where you could have done better. You recognise this for the coping habit you clung to when you were younger, as though if you just reigned in enough of who you are then no one would ever be able to find a reason to hate you. 

[Stargazer] You know that he likes you for being you, right?

[Kim] Khm.

[Ace] Come on, get up and shower. 

Using your iron habitual will, you drag yourself to the shower but the miasma of nervous energy makes it so difficult to find something to wear. Each voice seems to suddenly have Very Strong Opinions about how to adorn yourself and the longer the conversation goes on, the more self conscious you feel.

The doorbell rings.

Fuck.

You go to the buzzer and press the intercom.

Kim: Hello?

Harry: Hey! Can I come up?

[Analyst] Wait, what? Why?

[Sacre Coeur] Perfect, all he needs to do is whip off your towel!

[Quick Draw] That is… no. Just so no. 

[Chameleon] But he can advise you on what to wear.

Kim: Okay, second floor.

You wait while he climbs the stairs and knocks at the door.

Kim: Harry, I’m not completely ready, can you just wait in the kitchen?

Harry; That’s perfect. Can you open the door though?

Kim: Yes, but I’m not ready and uh-

Harry: Kim, Kim.

He sounds very reassuring through the wooden door, and you are feeling a little bit stupid but glad that he is picking up on the anxiety you are trying to signal to the Universe.

Harry: I can come back later, walk around the block, or we can reschedule.

You smile as he massages your panic with his reassurances.

Harry: Or, or I can sit out here and we can just talk through the door if that’s what you want. 

You actually laugh at that. 

Harry: Or I can go and get food and leave it on your doorstep and then I’ll know that you have eaten and that would be an excellent Valentine’s day date. 

Kim: Even if you did not see me? If I was just a voice through the door?

You say this knowing that he will play along. You are so relieved that it is him outside your door, he just has a way of having your back that you can always rely on and you wonder at this moment if he even knows that. How much you can rely on him.

Harry: Knowing that you are happy and you’ve eaten good food? Yes, I’d consider that a big success.  
  


You open the door and he fills the doorway, partly because he is carrying a shopping bag filled with food. He beams when he sees you and it’s so sincere that you can’t help but smile back. He steps inside and toes off his shoes and he hasn’t commented on the towel which is good, and it would be stupid to be self-conscious anyway because you’ve seen him in less, plus bullet wounds, but even so.

Harry: So, I’m gonna just say it, my tie told me that you didn’t want to go out this evening.

Kim: OK? What?

Harry: So I was like ‘well why did he agree to go out then?’ and my tie said that you wanted a date, not necessarily to go out, so I went and bought food and I thought I can make you dinner here. 

He holds up the bag as if to demonstrate this.

Kim: You’re not wearing the tie.

Harry: Yeah, it was an executive decision. You know. Umm. Everyone’s quieter that way.

Kim: I don’t know how to respond to that, but I think your tie was onto something.

You show him to the kitchen, even though you can see it from the front door (your flat is only three rooms) and he bustles his way around the cupboards as he unpacks the contents of the shopping bag. You watch him for a moment. He seems to just know where everything is, which is uncanny but completely in-keeping with DuBois. He stops for a moment to admire the bouquet.

You discretely take stock of what he is wearing - it’s deliciously chaotic; Harry’s sense of style has not mellowed even now that he can make his own clothing decisions and not just pull clothes out of bins and other people’s wardrobes. His ‘Fuck the world’ jacket is draped over the back of a chair, and he's wearing his FALN tracksuit pants and a loud oversized floral tshirt. 

With this in mind, you make comfortable clothing choices. Soft grey sweatpants for the win. The voices also seem to be distracted - you have this vision of them mingling excitedly with a host of 24 new visitors. 

[Analyst] 24?

[Encyclopedia] Hey you, get back here.

[Esprit du Corps] Yeah, I'm not done comparing the 57th to the 41st

[Kim] Who the fuck were those guys?

When you return to the kitchen, Harry is chopping vegetables, he’s got the hand-crank radio on and is humming along, and turns to look you up and down, and goes a little flush. It’s the first time he’s seen you so dressed down, towel aside. You stand in the doorway, uncertain of what atmosphere you two are creating.

He puts down the knife and wipes his hands on a dish towel

Harry: So Kim, I was thinking, so, and you have to hear me out here because you will see that it is very logical. But also, maybe, you know. A bit much.

Kim: I’m listening.

Harry: Well, I have this plan that I am going to wow you with an amazing dinner and then I’m going to kiss you-

You raise your eyebrow, surprised and not surprised, charmed even, at his forwardness.

Harry: But then I thought, and this is the part that I think you will agree is very logical, that if I ask you for a kiss after dinner then I only get to kiss you once this evening. If you say yes, of course.

Kim: I’m not sure I follow…

You say, although you definitely follow very well and smile a little bit.

Harry: But if I ask you for a kiss now, then make dinner, then I get to ask you for another kiss again after dinner. And the only better thing than a kiss is two kisses.

Kim: Ah.

You adjust your glasses. 

Kim: Khm. Oui. Yes. I see. Well.

You look up at him, at his inexplicable facial hair, and place your hands against his chest as he draws you in and you press your lips together in a short kiss that is full of promise. 

Harry: Oh no

Kim: What?

Harry: Oh no, I just realised there is a secret third option.

Kim: Care to elaborate?

He kisses you again, this time pulling you in a little closer and you pull on his collar as you extend this kiss, this time lingering in his hold. It feels like your skin has been electrified. 

Harry: Three kisses are better than two.

Kim: Ah, of course. 

He kisses your forehead and offers you a seat at the small table under the window. Then he sets about roasting and shallow frying and putting on a generally competent spectacle, not that you were sure what you were expecting, but then again, something about Harry and a love for food does seem to go together. 

He talks a bit about trying different things after the amnesia to see if anything ‘just clicks’ like the time he ‘played petanque’ with Rene in Martinaise. Turned out he had no idea how to play petanque and instead rediscovered his instinct for shot put.

Kim: And you found cooking?

Harry: Yup! Along with motor carriages, which you already knew, and cross country.

Kim: Kissing doorbells.

Harry: That was one time!

Kim: Feminism

Harry: Fuck yeah! And, turns out, the harmonica.

Kim: Really??

Harry: No. And I’m banned from the music shop.

You laugh and he laughs with you. The rest of the evening goes like this, gentle ribbing, heartwarming conversation and when he brings the food over you kind of want to melt because there’s enough for leftovers-for-lunch. Guess he wasn’t joking when he said making sure you were well-fed was a source of joy. When you’re finished, you wash up and he dries and once that’s done, he looks uncertainly at you and you grip his elbow and pull yourself into his arms and he holds you tightly. 

It feels warm and safe and he hums as he squeezes you, as you press your hands into his shoulders and let yourself feel how strong he is, which is definitely a fantasy you’ve tried to not think about. He rests his head against yours and it’s so nice. 

Kim: So, you were mentioning earlier something about three kisses

You say this into his chest and it’s a little muffled.

Harry: Well, I had sort of imagined that you would be so impressed by my cooking that you’d leap into my arms and demand a hundred kisses.

Kim: Ah, so, even though you were scheming all along, there was a hidden scheme to your scheme.

Harry: You’ve got me, Lieutenant. Can’t hide anything from you.

Kim: You are a devious criminal, Harrier DuBois.

You place your hands on the sides of his face and look at him. He looks a little ragged as you take that third kiss from his lips, and then a fourth and a fifth. He fingers the hem of your tshirt and you pull yourself flush against him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

He pulls back with a devious glint in his eye and then lifts you up and sets you on the kitchen counter which you huff at but it plays into more fantasies you’ve definitely not-thought about. Then he kisses along your jaw and down your neck and your fingers card through his hair.

Harry: You are delicious. 

Kim: You can keep saying things like that.

Harry: And you can keep calling me by my full name.

Kim: Harrier,

He nuzzles into your neck, nips at it.

Kim; Will you uh, that is, would you like to-

He looks at you, his hands resting on the counter top. You ruffle his hair through your fingers as you prepare to take a metaphorical leap. You really have his full attention.

Harry: What is it, Kim? Do you need to call it a night?

Kim: I actually was wondering if you wanted to take me to my bedroom.

He makes a humming sound and puts on a performance of looking deep in though, then scoops you up bridal style and you shiver.

Kim: OK, I did not mean like this.

  
Harry: I can put you down.

Kim: Khm, i didn’t say that.

He grins and takes you the small distance to your bedroom and places you on the bed that’s pushed up into the corner because practical reasons, and you pull him onto you and draw him into another kiss, this time it’s long and you feel his shoulders as he settles to lie beside you, and you pull his other arm under your head to rest on it. He is so cosy and the street lamps are illuminating him gently through the net curtains. His touches fill you with longing though he seems a bit uncertain, perhaps that’s an amnesia thing, or perhaps it’s a Harry thing. 

Kim: Do you want to try something?

Harry: Of course. But does it mean I need to stop kissing you?

You laugh.

Kim: Only for a little time. Give me your hand, I’m going to uh- show you where you can touch me.

You blanch at your boldness but the semi-darkness makes it easier to say what you want. And his intake of breath fills you with desire. 

Kim: Only if you want to, of course.

Harry: I would love to know where I can touch you.

He gives you his hand and you place it on the side of your face, just below your glasses.

Kim: If you can avoid my glasses.

Harry: good to know.

You press his fingers to your lips and kiss each one gently, and he sighs into it. Then you guide his hand across your undercut and to the back of your neck, down the back of your shoulders, your back and over your bum, which he squeezes and you press closer to him. 

Harry: Hang on, wait wait wait, I just need to uh-

He strokes your hip bone and gives your bum another squeeze and you snort a laugh into his chest.

Harry: This is very important business. Kim Kitsuragi just placed my hand on his butt. Only one cheek, mind, so I assume the other one is off-limits.

You laugh again, it is wonderful to have someone enjoying you so much.

Harry: But I will savour what I have been presented with! This is the best day of my life. I will remember this forever.

Kim: you can touch the other side.

Harry: yes!

He pinches the other cheek and you flinch into him and after you’re left with an impression of exactly how much he is enjoying this, as are you, you take his hand again and slide it down your thigh.

Kim: The other leg, naturally, is of limits.

He chuckles, he can tell you’re joking. Then you scoop his hand and slide it down your arm, and over your shoulder, and shiver as you rest his palm over your chest, aware of your breath and the rise and fall of your lungs. He kisses you, and you run your tongue over his lips, opening his mouth and he responds in kind, and you draw his hand down your navel.

Harry: Kim.

He sounds breathless.

Kim: Are you OK?  
Harry: Oh yes.

Kim: Can I continue?

He nods and you roll over and push into him so that he is the big spoon. You replace his hand on your navel and his other arms wraps around you and rests on your chest. It’s so safe and thrilling to feel his strength. He kisses the back of your neck and moans softly into it as you press yourself closer to him. He pushes his hips into you and you feel the pressure between you.

That’s when you slide his hand down to cup over your trousers and you push into his hand and shudder and arch between his hold. He palms you slowly first, then gently presses himself between your assvcheeks and you push into him and hold onto the arm that’s steady across your chest. It feels like you are clinging onto him, putting yourself in his control, letting him take you over. 

His hands move along the length of your cock through your sweatpants and you fall into a slow rhythm, moving your hips between his hand and his body, feeling his breath quicken against your neck. He's leant up a little to watch you and that makes it even more thrilling. You grab on more tightly to his arm, and reach another hand behind you to feel his shoulder, reassuring him that you are ok and silently praying that he will keep escalating. 

Harry: Kim, I want-

Kim: Harrier

Harry: Ah, I want to touch you.

You moan and push your sweatpants over your hips to your knees, then your boxers, sliding the fabric under his palm so that he rests on your cock. He moans into your neck, and takes you in his hand and pumps you slowly, kissing you all the while and you moan his name. Your body thrills at being under his power, at his joy at touching you, feeling debauched and hurriedly derobed.

You picture him rolling you onto your front and grinding into you until he cums along your back, you picture pulling his face onto your cock while you drive the Kineema and holding him there while he gags around you. You picture him handcuffed, forced to sit on your cock while you share cigarette smoke between your lungs. 

You say his name in a voice that comes out much needier than you intended and roll over to face him and push yourself against him to rut into his hand. But you want more and pull his cock out and put it in his hand. He takes you both as you grab onto his shoulders and kiss his chest as he increases the pace. The friction between you builds and he says _Kim, I’m- I’m gonna_ in a voice that is completely undone and you kiss your name out of his mouth and you moan into him as you cum in his hand. Waves of pleasure roll through you, like you've been set alight and Harry was the spark. You feel him shudder, the arm wrapped around your shoulder pulls you in close as he also cums.

Finally, you collapse into him, feeling sleepy and protected. He seems equally relaxed, and he reaches behind you for your towel to wipe up before he pulls you in for a loose hug. He kisses you on the forehead and you reach up to press a kiss to his lips.

You nod off to sleep and wake when he lets out a snore. You cooled down as you napped and you gently nudge Harry awake to get him under the covers.

Harry: Ah, what? Khm, do you need me to go?

Kim: What? no, don't go. I want to get us under the covers.

He grins kisses you again, the jumps off the bed to shuck off his trousers and shirt with a self-conscious _I overheat when I sleep,_ while you get into bed properly. You pull him into bed next to you and he wraps himself around you. His chest is wonderfully hairy, like a bear, and you warm up in no time. He rubs slow circles into your hip, his arms are really long, and his breathing is deep. There is something so disarming about how freely he offers his affection. You hope he realises how you feel.

Kim: Happy Valentine’s day, Harry.

He hums, a happy sound, and squeezes you. 

Harry: Happy Valentine’s day, Kim

He says it into your hair, sleepy and soft, and you both fall into a deep sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> For Kim's skills:
> 
> Intellect  
> Trivia - remember practical details  
> Analyst - understand tricky situations, enjoy when things make sense  
> Chameleon - slip into roles, critique the performance of others  
> Discourse - hold conversations with aplomb
> 
> Physique  
> Machinist - understand the material world and how it fits together  
> Genius Loci - know the feel of the city under your skin  
> Memento Mori - know that death is coming for us all  
> Joie de Vie - find pleasure in life and your body
> 
> Motorics  
> Ace - be the coolest fucker in Revachol  
> Gear Head - fix, upgrade and improve things around you  
> Whisper Light - pick up on fine details  
> Quick Draw - be highly strung but still alive
> 
> Psyche  
> Officer - know all the cop protocols, assert yourself among other officers  
> Gentleman - understand etiquette, act with honour  
> Stargazer - draw lines between disparate points  
> Sacre Coeur - have a tender heart, feel the pain of others


End file.
